


With Reckless Abandon

by MsThunderFrost



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blow Jobs, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Deep Throating, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Feral Hypnos (Hades Video Game), Fights, Hurt Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Insecure Thanatos (Hades Video Game), M/M, Makeup Sex, Men Crying, Multiple Orgasms, Nectar As Lube, Overstimulation, Reckless Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Sad Achilles (Hades Video Game), Scars, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29348817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: “No, lad. Don’t—” Achilles voice is weak, strained. He sounds like he’s crying—or close to it. Zagreus can feel the way that he’s trembling through the spear, and it hurts him in a way that he cannot define with words.“Achilles, s-sir…” the Styx rushes up to take him, leaving Achilles standing there, his hands barely holding the bloodied spear—that had, just a second ago, been lodged inside of the Prince’s abdomen—aloft. The point of the blade is broken.The spear falls from Achilles’ hands, spraying dark, red blood across the tile. And he sobs.--Zagreus cannot die. Not truly. That doesn't make it any easier for his loved ones to watch him be taken by the Styx, time and again.It all comes to a head after a particularly disastrous training session with Achilles.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus/Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 226





	1. Death Becomes Him

Blood trickles from the corner of the Prince’s mouth, hot and thick and so very, very _red_ upon his too-pale skin.

His chest shudders as he tries and fails to draw in an entirely unnecessary breath, his entire body slouching forward onto the shaft of Achilles’ spear. His mentor’s hands are shaking, too slick with blood to maintain a proper grip on the weapon that is currently imbedded in his stomach.

This is not the first time that Achilles has killed him. Far from it. But it is, perhaps, the first time that has been entirely preventable—and entirely his fault. Thanatos had been on him for _weeks_ to take better care of himself, rambling endlessly about how so many trips through the Styx could have been avoided if he’d just taken the time to think before dashing headlong into danger. He hadn’t taken any of it to heart; it was just Than’s way, to worry endlessly about everything and nothing. Though the trips through the Styx were unpleasant, he couldn’t _truly_ die. At most, his attempts to reach the surface would just be… _derailed_ by an express trip back to the House of Hades.

Honestly, he’d been surprised when Achilles had asked him to spar with him, for ‘old times’ sake’. Up until that point, Achilles had been rather adamant about the fact that he had nothing left to teach him—that there was no teacher that could rival practical combat experience. Regardless, he’d jumped at the chance to spend some quality time with his mentor. And now… here they were. Achilles, trembling with horror as Zagreus sags over the bloodied shaft of his spear, Zagreus weakly clawing at where the blade of the spear had pierced his flesh in a futile effort to remove the intruding object. Blood and darkness, but it _hurts_. Tears blur his vision as he tries to take hold of the shaft and _pull_ —

“No, lad. Don’t—” Achilles voice is weak, strained. He sounds like he’s crying—or close to it. Zagreus can feel the way that he’s trembling through the spear, and it hurts him in a way that he cannot define with words.

“Achilles, s-sir…” the Styx rushes up to take him, leaving Achilles standing there, his hands barely holding the bloodied spear—that had, just a second ago, been lodged inside of the Prince’s abdomen—aloft. The point of the blade is broken.

The spear falls from Achilles’ hands, spraying dark, red blood across the tile. And he sobs.

* * *

Achilles is not in the armory when he returns. But his spear is.

His stomach still aches where Achilles’ spear had run him through. It’s not unusual for there to be a bit of residual pain leftover from such a violent death, but… this feels like something else entirely. He bends to retrieve the spear, his mismatched eyes focusing in on the broken tip of the blade. Had he really… stabbed him that hard? No, that’s not… Achilles hadn’t _stabbed_ him at all. Zagreus had capitalized on a perceived opening and had managed to land one measly hit on his mentor before realizing that he’d dashed right onto Achilles’ spear. Achilles hadn’t moved, hadn’t _breathed_. He’d just stood there and watched in horror as realization dawned on Zagreus’ too-pale face.

He searches the House, more than a little frantic. Achilles is nowhere to be found. Where could he have gone on such short notice? Surely, it hadn’t taken Zagreus _that_ long to respawn in the Pool of Styx… Maybe he just needed to go somewhere to unwind. He _had_ seemed really upset…

Despite being unable to track down Achilles, he _does_ manage to find Thanatos hovering near the West Hall balcony.

He decides to ask him about Achilles, just in case. “Hey, Than? You wouldn’t happen to know where Achilles wandered off to, would you?” Thanatos arches a silver-white brow, “I… we were sparring, and, well…”

“You died. During a standard sparring match.” Thanatos sounds thoroughly underwhelmed—and more than a little disappointed. “What happened, Zag? I know that Achilles isn’t one to pull his punches, but to kill you three minutes into your little sparring session? That’s definitely overkill.”

“I…” He bites down on the inside of his cheek, “It was my fault, okay? I thought I saw an opening and I went for it, only… the blade of Achilles’ spear was in the way, and by the time I realized it it was buried to the hilt in my stomach.”

“Tch,” Something dark and dangerous swirls in Than’s amber eyes, “Aren’t I always telling you that you need to be more careful?”

“…Yes.” Zagreus concedes, “But what’s the _point_ in being cautious, when I’ll literally respawn five seconds later? There are no consequences to my being a little reckless every now and then, except having to start my quest back over at the beginning.” He’s had a lot of time to think on this, and while it might not be what his lover wants to hear—

“No consequences.” Thanatos deadpans. “Perhaps that’s true for you. But what about the others who’re left behind in the wake of your numerous demises? What about the others, who’ve had to standby and watch you die—”

“Seventy-three times!” Hypnos chimes from the other side of the wall.

“Thank you, brother.” Death Incarnate heaves a long-suffering sigh, “You simply have no concept of how your actions affect others. You… Blood and darkness, Zag…”

“Are you… Were _you_ the one who asked Achilles to train with me today?” He doesn’t know why he’s so agitated. It’s not like Thanatos has done anything wrong. Except… well, something about Thanatos’ tone is grating on him. This is hardly the first time that Achilles has killed him in a so-called “standard training session”, so what the hell is his problem?

“…Do you remember what happened at the end of your last run, Zag?”

He _does_ remember. He’d just reached that odd, ‘s’ shaped island in Asphodel—the one that he seems to have the most difficulty dashing on, because of the extreme lack of space. He’d barely set foot inside the chamber when Than’s bell had tolled, and the god of death himself had appeared in a flash of soft green light. As per usual, he’d offered Zagreus a brief greeting, before shades had begun to fill the chamber by the dozen. Zagreus hadn’t wasted any time sending the various shades back to their respective afterlives—and the shades had not hesitated to attack him, with one of those nasty inferno-bombers managing to rob him of a whopping thirty-six health when he wasn’t paying attention.

Soon enough, there’d only been one shade left in the chamber: a gorgon head, who had floated all the way out onto the River Phlegethon. He and Than had been tied at the time, 18 to 18. If he’d wanted that centaur heart Thanatos had stowed away in his chiton, he’d only have a couple of seconds to act before Than’s death sentence sent the shade back to their doom.

Zagreus is well-aware of the fact that lava runs are… ill-advised. Just because he’s flame resistant doesn’t mean that the river cannot kill him—or, at the very least, claim one of his death defies. He’d considered it a calculated risk—Than’s centaur heart would definitely help, and he had more than enough coin to replenish his life essence at the Well of Charon—

And then everything had gone dark. The last thing he remembers hearing is Thanatos proclaim despondently, _“You’re coming with me_.” And then he’d woken in the Pool of Styx, and, well…

“I don’t…” Thanatos pinches the bridge of his nose, his brows furrowing in distress. “How many times have I told you that these little competitions aren’t worth your life? I’m trying to help _keep_ you from dying.” He snaps.

Zagreus scowls, “The only way you ‘help keep me from dying’ is with centaur hearts, which you only provide if I _beat_ you!” He’s not sure when he started yelling. He knows that he needs to stop, but his mouth is moving of it’s own accord, “Why don’t you stop worrying so much about what _I’m_ doing and focus on making yourself useful—”

“Making myself useful…” Thanatos repeats, his features twisting as if he had just swallowed something foul.

“You had _no right_ to go to Achilles and talk about me behind my back!” He continues, livid. “If you have such a problem with the way I’m behaving, stop being such a fucking coward and say as much to my face!” The entire House has gone deathly silent. Zagreus can feel bile rising in the back of his throat. He’s _never_ yelled at Than like this before.

“Tch…” something flickers in Thanatos’ amber eyes. “Goodbye, Zagreus.”

“What? No!” He reaches out, circling his hand around Thanatos’ wrist. “You don’t get to phase away in the middle of—”

“Don’t _touch_ me.” Thanatos yanks his wrist back hard enough to cause the Prince to stumble forward a bit, before disappearing in a flash of green light. 

Zagreus stands there for several moments, half-expecting Thanatos will return—but he never does. Attempting to push their fight to the back of his mind, he decides to resume his search for Achilles. Only… the other members of the House seem less than willing to offer him any meaningful advice, and he ends up canning the idea after a particularly circuitous conversation with Hypnos. If Achilles is no longer in the House, then he must be with Patroclus in Elysium. It should be easy enough to reach him, provided the Fates are not feeling particularly cruel. It does not take him long to realize that the number of shades in each of the chambers has begun to increase dramatically, despite there being no Pacts of Punishment in place…

…And Thanatos is nowhere to be found. 

* * *

The silver-white waters of the Lethe run pink with blood as Achilles scrubs at his palms with a bit of cloth Patroclus had used to clear away a few droplets that’d splattered on his pallid face. His entire body is trembling, his vision blurry with tears as his mind replays the events from earlier over and over again. The lad had dashed forward once, twice… the steely knuckles of the Twin Fists had brushed along the underside of his jaw, and then… then Achilles’ entire body had _lurched_ , his grip on the shaft of his spear loosed by the Prince’s blood. It was just supposed to be a friendly sparring match, a chance for him to observe how real-world experience had sharpened the Prince’s skills…

If anything, it appears as though the real world has made him sloppy. Being able to rely on the assistance of Nyx’s magical mirror and the aid of his Olympian relatives has instilled a recklessness in him—an absolute disregard for the finality of death that could only be found in one who had never had to face the reality of his own mortality.

Achilles understands that Zagreus cannot die. Truly, he does. And yet…

He can’t seem to wash all the blood from his hands.

“Shh…” Patroclus settles in behind him, his thick thighs framing Achilles’ svelte waist. “You’re shaking, _philtatos_.” He pries the cloth from Achilles’ hands, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you quite so unsettled by the sight of another’s blood.”

That’s because… Achilles chokes around a sob, remembering how the broken point of Hector’s spear had looked in Patroclus’ belly. Achilles had never been uneasy about blood until Patroclus’ had dripped from his trembling hands. “I k-killed him.”

Patroclus opens his mouth, a response lingering on the tip of his tongue, when—“That’s a lot of coin.” He sighs.

“And yet, he lives.” Patroclus’ voice is teetering upon the edge of fondly annoyed. He combs his fingers through Achilles’ sandy hair and wonders if the rebellious Prince of the Underworld will ever be able to learn how to read a room. “Would you like me to speak with him?” At this point, he’s apt to give the Prince a proper reaming—

“Is he…” Achilles can’t seem to force the words past his stubborn, uncooperative tongue. But Patroclus understands.

“He is… in one piece, more or less.” The fallen warrior observes the Prince as he makes his way up the bridge, “There’s a small gash on his left thigh, but otherwise he appears to be quite well.”

“Achilles, sir!” The relief in Zagreus’ voice is almost palpable. “I… when you disappeared from the House like that, I was so worried!” He sits down alongside his mentor, his flaming feet skirting the surface of the River Lethe. “I didn’t even have the chance to apologize.” Achilles and Patroclus share a look—perhaps he already understood?

“Apologize.” Achilles repeats, his voice weak.

“Mmm…” He nods, “You taught me far better form than that, sir. What happened back at the House… that was a mockery of everything I’ve ever learned from you. But don’t worry—I’ll do better next time!”

So he doesn’t understand, then. Not truly. He thinks that Achilles feels insulted because Zagreus hadn’t put his teachings into practice. It never once occurred to him that Achilles might be upset because his recklessness had cost literally cost him his life. When Thanatos had first come to him and asked him to speak with Zagreus about his newfound recklessness, he’d _severely_ underestimated the extent of the problem. Zagreus had always been one to walk on the wild side, so to speak. And Thanatos did have a tendency to be a bit overprotective. Achilles had thought it all just one big misunderstanding that could be resolved over a friendly training session, like they’d had in the old days.

And then Zagreus had died on his spear. And now he couldn’t stop shaking.

Patroclus cants his head to the side, “Stranger.” Zagreus’ mismatched eyes flit over to him, “Did you ever consider that you might be approaching this the wrong way? That Achilles might _actually_ be upset because you _dashed headlong onto his spear_?”

Zagreus pouts, “Now you sound like Thanatos…”

Achilles frowns, “You spoke with Master Death?”

“Spoke… is one way of putting it. It was rather more of a lecture.” Zagreus runs his fingers through the grass, the dewy green blades tickling the calloused pads of his fingers. “He said that my recklessness was hurting the people who cared about me, and I… well, we had a bit of a fight.”

“A _bit_ …?” Something tells him that this was more than just a little lover’s spat.

Zagreus sniffles, “He… He told me that we can’t… that he can’t… ugh…” He rubs at his mismatched eyes with the heel of his palm, “He broke up with me, okay?” He snaps, his voice high and reedy as he tries to stifle a sob. “And I… I guess I came here because… if you’re gonna leave me, too, it’ll be easier to just… tear it all out in one go.”

The shattered pieces of Achilles’ heart break even further, “Lad… you _know_ that we love you.” Zagreus’ entire body pulls tight as a bow string, “And Master Death—Thanatos—he loves you, too.”

Zagreus starts to shake. Achilles can feel the tremors against his knee, “You two… You’re going to leave me, too, aren’t you? _Aren’t you?!_ ” 

Achilles blinks. He’d expected Thanatos to be upset with the results of their little sparring session, of course. Considering that all of this had been borne from a lava run—where Zagreus had chased a retreating gorgon head to the far corner of the chamber, without an island in sight, in order to break his tie with Thanatos in their little competition; he’d gotten the head, and died immediately thereafter, leaving Thanatos to take his body back to the House. He hadn’t expected it to be enough to make the avatar of Death _leave_. Life and Death were… well, they were inexplicably drawn to one another, like a planet drawing moons into its orbit. For Thanatos to _choose_ to leave…

For all the tumult in Zagreus’ life, Thanatos had been a rare constant—no matter how angry he was with the Prince for acting as he had, he had continued to unofficially lend support to his cause. He’d continued to help him under the guise of organizing little competitions to see who could slay the greater number of shades in the shortest amount of time, not anticipating the lengths that Zagreus would go to in his desire to win. Thanatos had been forced to bring Zagreus back to the House on six separate occasions. And while it happened more frequently during the beginning of Zagreus’ escape attempts, the fact that it was _still_ happening now lent even more credence to the idea that Zagreus was being reckless because he knew he couldn’t die.

Achilles thinks, for just a moment, of what the world would be like if all men lived with the same hubris as the gods—confident that their foolish, ill-contrived decisions would not have any real, lasting consequences. He’d lived like that, once upon a time, and where had it gotten him?

A lover, with a broken spearpoint buried deep in the flesh of his belly.

A slow and agonizing death from an arrow lodged in his vulnerable heel.

There’s a part of him that understands Zagreus’ perspective, because it used to be his own. He is untouchable—why should he care? But there’s another, larger part of him that’s had the chance to stew in his own misery for _centuries_. He’s had plenty of time to think, and think, and think some more. And, well…

“Zagreus… come here, lad.” He’s still shaking, but it eases a little when Zagreus slowly begins to unfold himself and crawl over to him. He’s moving a little slow—Achilles’ eyes flit to the wound on his thigh. “Did something… _bite_ you, lad?”

He’s expecting to hear that Zagreus ran afoul of one of the numbskulls in Tartarus or Asphodel. Instead, Zagreus mumbles. “Yeah.” Pulling the fabric of his leggings away from the wound, he elaborates, “Hypnos. Hypnos bit me.”

“Master Sleep.” He repeats. Zagreus nods. “ _Bit_ you.” He nods again. “Dare I ask… _why_?”

“Because… B-Because…” he leans forward, burying his face between Achilles’ pecs. Achilles jumps a little, surprised, but eventually relaxes into it. “I t-tried to use Mort on Alecto, because she was kicking my ass, and… a-and…”

* * *

_“You didn’t tell me that she’d_ wake up _once I attacked her!”_ That _little folly had cost him his second death defy, and jeopardized his entire run. Hypnos appears totally unbothered by it all, rocking back into his padded quilt without a care._

_“You never asked.” He shrugs. “Maybe next time, you should think about that before you go and break my brother’s heart. Not all of us can deal devastating damage with a swing of their scythe, you know.” He absently twirls a silver-white curl around his finger._

_“I broke_ his _heart?” Zagreus furrows his brow, “Hypnos, mate… I think you may have confused the facts._ He _was the one who kicked_ me _to the curb.”_

_The corner of Hypnos’ mouth quirks up into an almost-smile. “Hmm, that’s funny. I must’ve been eavesdropping on the wrong conversation, then, since it sounded an awful lot like you ripped his unbeating heart out of his chest and served it up to him on a silver platter. But hey, it’s not like you’re the first person he ever loved or anything like that. I’m sure he’ll get over himself soon enough.”_

_“This is hard for me to, you know.” Hypnos stares at him blankly, entirely unmoved. “I didn’t ask to fight with Than—”_

_“Didn’t ask to—Gods, you really_ are _a special brand of stupid, aren’t you?”_

* * *

It’s difficult to make out what the lad is saying, as he seems less and less willing to part from Achilles’ bosom, but he thinks that he gets the gist of it. He spares a glance at Patroclus, who reaches around to card his fingers through Zagreus’ wild, sweat-slicked hair. Achilles retrieves the cloth that he’d been using to clean his hands and dips it into the Lethe, soaking it in cool, clean water. The lad doesn’t seem to process what is happening until he presses the cloth down onto the wound, fresh blood bubbling to the surface. He yips, simultaneously attempting to run from Achilles’ touch and burrow closer to it. Patroclus shifts to wrap his arms around Zagreus’ middle, anchoring him in place so that Achilles might finish tending to his wound.

Zagreus grabs hold of Patroclus’ thigh, his fingers digging deep into the shade’s flesh. It seems as though his tolerance for pain is rather lacking—this realization causes a fresh round of tears to sting the corners of Achilles’ eyes. “Just… bear with it a moment longer, lad. It’ll all be better soon.”

“It won’t bring Than back.” He mumbles, despondent. Patroclus and Achilles share a look.

Patroclus’ hand sneaks up underneath the hem of Zagreus’ chiton, teasing over the soft skin of his lower belly. His calloused fingers caress the soft flesh where a scar _would_ reside, had Zagreus been slightly less godly and slightly more human. “Stranger…” he begins, “ _Zagreus_ … there’s something I’d like to show you.”

Zagreus blinks, “Something you’d… show me?”

In their current position, it’s a bit of a struggle to shrug off his chest piece. But soon enough, he’s able to take the Prince’s hand in his and glide it over the keloid scar that had been left in the wake of Hector’s spear. “Not all of us are so blessed as to be unkillable.” He says, “Sometimes, the wounds that run the deepest… never heal.”

“That…” Zagreus’ thumb glides over the raised edge of the scar, his touch soft, almost _reverent_. “That’s where Achilles…” He trails off, a few tears leaking from the corners of his mismatched eyes as he considers his own unblemished stomach.

“Hmm…” Achilles begins to tend to his wound with a fresh, dry cloth. “Just because you have become accustomed to the routine of death does not mean that those around you have—or will.” He says. “Thanatos is the avatar of _peaceful_ death, is he not? How do you think it makes him feel to watch you fall, over and over, for the sake of a competition—which was always just a thinly veiled excuse to _help you_?”

Zagreus looks like he wants to argue at first. And then he sniffles, “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t even think… I _haven’t_ been thinking…” He starts shaking again, “I-I don’t know what to say. I’ve been so… so stupid…” He sobs.

Patroclus hums, “You haven’t been stupid.” He’s definitely been stupid. But calling him out on it now isn’t going to help anything. “You just… need to learn how to see things from someone else’s point-of-view. It’s not a skill that comes easily.”

Achilles has just finished tying off a fresh bandage around the Prince’s leg when Zagreus launches himself at the forgotten hero, a slur of apologies tumbling over his clumsy lips as he buries his face in Achilles’ pecs once again. Patroclus snorts—what can he say, at least the kid has taste. He, too, would wile away the hours with his face buried in Achilles’ chest, if the Fates were so inclined as to allow him the luxury. Instead, he heaves a sigh and reaches out to rub a soothing hand along the length of Zagreus’ back, listening as Achilles whispers words of comfort into his disheveled hair. Though the corner of his mouth _does_ quirk up into a small smile when he realizes that Achilles is no longer shaking.

Perhaps the Prince may redeem himself, yet…


	2. Keep Your Teeth to Yourself

“I-I need to apologize to Thanatos.” It’s not a startling revelation, once he realizes that they’d _actually_ had a fight—and that he’d most definitely been the one in the wrong. And yet… “But… I don’t know how I can face him, after I screamed at him like that…”

Achilles hums, “Perhaps the best thing that you can do for Thanatos right now is give him time, lad.” He knows that that might not be what the Prince wants to hear, but it’s the best advice that he has to offer. “Thanatos is still unused to weathering emotions. If you push him too soon, it may make the situation worse.”

“B-But…” Zagreus hiccups. Patroclus pats his back lightly. “But what if, after he _has_ that time, he decides that he wants to stay… to stay…” He trails off, unable to force his clumsy tongue to cooperate and form the words. “I don’t think I can handle him being upset with me for the rest of eternity.” He concludes in a despondent whisper.

“To be fair, I don’t think that Thanatos is _capable_ of being upset with you for that long.” Achilles says. “Even when he thought you were going to leave him forever, he couldn’t stay away from you. Despite the heartbreak, and the anger, he never stopped helping you—never stopped _loving_ you. And that’s what you’re really afraid of, isn’t it? That he’ll stop loving you.”

Zagreus blinks back tears, “I… All I want is for him to be h-happy.” Or, as close to happy as the avatar of Death could truly be.

The corner of Achilles’ mouth quirks up into a small smile, “ _You_ make him happy, lad.” He cups Zagreus’ chin, turning his face a little so that he can see his watery, mismatched eyes. “So no more tears, alright? Everything is going to be alright.”

The Prince sniffles, “I-I’m sorry that I hurt you. The both of you.” His sad eyes flicker to Patroclus’ belly.

“All is forgiven, love. So long as you understand.”

Achilles’ face bears the marks of exhaustion that stems from an hour’s worth of sobbing. Zagreus is not too far behind, his movements lethargic as he pokes at the bandages wound around his injured leg. The siren call of sleep is beckoning them both under, although Zagreus is doing his level best to ignore its sweet call—that is, of course, until Patroclus gently pries him away from Achilles’ chest to rest his head on the fallen warrior’s lap. He drapes his soft, powder blue chlamys over the Prince’s prone form, and begins to run his fingers through his messy hair, just as Achilles had done.

The Prince will leave soon enough to challenge Theseus and the Minotaur in the Elysium Arena. He would be at a distinct disadvantage in his current state, and neither man wanted to see the Prince fall to the Champion simply because he was lacking proper rest and in dire need of consolation. Achilles settles in beside him, tossing an arm over Zagreus’ middle and drawing him in close. The blades of grass beneath them are as soft as the softest feather-down blanket, the occasional misty spray of water from the surface of the Lethe cool and refreshing upon their skin—

The verdant Elysian hills are truly a wonderful place to take a brief, but much-needed nap. Zagreus tucks his face into the crook of Achilles’ neck and closes his eyes, trusting that no harm will befall him in the tranquility of Patroclus’ glade.

Sleep claims him within moments. Perhaps Hypnos is not so angry with him, after all.

* * *

Achilles’ eyes flutter open as a subtle, but insistent force rocks his body backward. “Mmm…” It takes a moment for his eyes to focus, and for his brain to register that he is, in fact, still in Elysium, sprawled out over Patroclus’ lap, with… “Lad?”

As far as he can tell, Zagreus is still asleep. But he’s rutting up against Achilles’ leg, his weeping cock straining against the front of his leggings. The movements are not overtly sexual—at least, not at first. He’s seen Zagreus fidget like this numerous times… he’s just never happened to have his leg strewn over Achilles’ waist while he does it. The lad’s eyelids are fluttering, twitching just so every time that Zagreus’ hips circle ‘round to press his throbbing cock a bit more insistently into the divot of Achilles’ hip. His mouth hangs open, his sweet, pink lips slick with spit as a few vaguely coherent words spill out of his mouth. Whatever he’s dreaming about certainly seems to have gotten him riled up, and his not-so-subtle thrusting is not leaving Achilles unaffected. He shifts a little, trying to avoid the direct stimulation on his cock—

“O- _Oh_?” Color rises in Achilles’ cheeks (which is amazing, considering how many years it’s been since he had anything akin to blood coursing through his veins) as Zagreus cants his hips and rocks forward, their cloth-covered cocks forcefully brushing up against one another.

“Mmm… looks like someone’s awake.” The whisper pulls him out of his silent reverie. His eyes snap up to Patroclus’ face, his blush intensifying at the knowing expression twisting his features. “Enjoying yourself, _philtatos_?”

“I…” He swallows hard, “How long as he…?” Achilles’ hips rock forward of their own accord, desperately seeking more of that delicious friction. Zagreus is more than happy to provide, his fingers pressing into Achilles’ skin hard enough to leave bruises had he still lived as he shifts his hips and rocks forward _again_ , setting a bit of a faster pace.

“Mmm… _sir_ …” Zagreus twists, and his leggings slide down a little—just far enough for his cock to pop free and dribble on the hem of his chiton. “P-Please, I…”

Patroclus reaches out to stroke a hand over Zagreus’ head, his short nails scraping along the godling’s sensitive scalp. “He started shifting around a little while ago. I didn’t think much of it, until he started to rut against your leg. And then, well…” And then, Achilles had woken up.

“S-Should we… wake him?” Achilles is, admittedly, at a bit of a loss for what to do.

Patroclus clicks his tongue, “I see that there’s at least _one_ part of you that’s on-board with that plan.”

The hand that is stroking through Zagreus’ hair gradually slides down to cup his cheek. Zagreus tilts his head to the side just far enough to take Patroclus’ thumb into his mouth and suckle on it sloppily. Achilles thinks that he might actually faint as those pretty mismatched eyes flutter open and focus in on the sharp contours of Achilles’ face. The Prince seems to understand what’d happened in an instant. Instead of recoiling from Achilles’ touch and apologizing for interrupting his rest, however, he smirks around Patroclus’ finger and slowly guides it out of his mouth to lick a deliciously wet strip along the length of his palm and down his wrist. Patroclus shivers, his own cock twitching with interest as Zagreus rolls them over so that he’s sitting astride Achilles’ lap.

His cock bobs obscenely, the tip red and swollen. Pre-cum drools from his slit, creating a dark, tacky stain on the front of his chiton. Achilles’ hands come up to cup the firm, pert globes of his ass, settling the Prince down on his lap so that he can _feel_ the way that Achilles’ cock is straining against the thin material of his chiton. For a moment, Achilles wonders whether the lad had ever actually been asleep, but he pushes the thought aside as Zagreus takes hold of his wrists and assists him in fully removing his leggings. His delicate, pale flesh is exposed to Achilles inch by glorious inch, until…

“Blood and darkness, lad…” Achilles chucks the Prince’s leggings off to the side. They land somewhere in the glade, to be tended to later. “I take it you had some pleasant dreams?”

“I _did_.” Zagreus licks his lips, his eyes flashing. “In fact, I was _hoping_ to be able to show you my favorite part…”

He rolls his hips in a slow, teasing circle, before alighting from Achilles’ lap to settle in-between his legs. Taking the hem of his soft, green chiton in hand, he rolls it up until the fabric is bunched messily around Achilles’ waist. Achilles’ eyes widen ever so slightly as the lad fiddles with his loincloth, before finally gaining access to his weeping cock. His fingers, calloused from years’ worth of study with a sword, curl around the sensitive flesh ever so lightly—Achilles’ eyes roll back into his head as he offers a gentle tug, his hips bucking up of their own accord.

“Let me show you just how sorry I am, Achilles, sir…” Zagreus looks up at him through his long, dark lashes, his tongue darting out to wet his plump lips. “I promise, I’ll make you feel _so good_ …”

He’s about to remind the lad that everything has already been forgiven, when Zagreus opens his mouth and descends on Achilles’ length. The warm, wet length of his tongue presses taut against the underside of his cock as he sinks down, and down, until—“Oh, _gods_.” He tangles his fingers in Zagreus’ hair and tugs _sharply_.

There are a multitude of benefits to not needing to breathe. The slightly warped smile that Zagreus offers as his throat bulges obscenely from the girth of Achilles’ cock is ranked rather highly on the list. “Look at you, stranger. Rendering my Achilles speechless. And here I thought it wasn’t possible.”

A bit of drool cascades down Achilles’ aching length as Zagreus slowly begins to bob his head. Any retort that Achilles may’ve had for Patroclus’ quip is lost in the sensation of the warm, dripping wet heat gently massaging his cock—“Hgnnn… _fuck_ —”

As he slowly begins to descend upon Achilles’ cock again, Patroclus retrieves one of the many bottles of nectar the lad had gifted him in his travels. He pops the cork and dips his fingers into the honeyed, viscous substance, before adjusting himself so that he might be able to reach around and—“ _Unhhh_ …”

Zagreus’ eyes flutter as he teases one thick finger around his tight little ring, before plunging inside. He bucks, canting his hips back toward Patroclus’ hand, desperate for more. “Did you like that, stranger?” He groans, the puddle of drool on Achilles’ waist growing ever-larger.

Each trip through the Styx has the unintended side-effect of rendering Zagreus tight as a virgin. And while that means that it’s like a slice of heaven to slide into his velvety depths… it also means that Achilles, Patroclus, and Thanatos always go to extraordinary lengths to ensure that he is properly prepped before proceeding. Patroclus is even more careful this time around, having just been made privy to the fact that the Prince’s pain tolerance is practically non-existent. Patroclus lands an open-handed swat on the Prince’s ass with his free hand as he coaxes his finger ever-deeper, working him open nice and slow—

Distantly, he hears Achilles cuss and sob as he cums, back arching as he releases down Zagreus’ throat. He’s buried too deep for the lad to have any choice but to swallow, although he gladly would’ve swallowed anyhow.

He pulls off with a wet _pop_ , before licking a wet strip along the underside of Achilles’ cock that has the fallen hero shuddering. His cock twitches, still half-hard, his body wracked with an overwhelming sort of pleasure-pain.

He pauses for a moment, and then swoops down to take Achilles back into his mouth.

Tears are leaking from the corners of Achilles’ eyes as his fingers tangle in Zagreus’ hair. He seems unable to decide whether he wants to push Zagreus’ head down or pull it off, and eventually seems to settle on neither. His hips are twitching—Patroclus can see his glutes flexing as Zagreus slowly teases him back to full-hardness. While he’s otherwise distracted, he works a second finger in alongside his first and begins to scissor them gently. His knuckles brush over Zagreus’ prostate, teasing the sensitive little nub until the muscles of Zagreus’ thighs are trembling. His cock has begun leaking steadily, a small puddle of pre forming beneath him on the grassy knoll. A second later, he adds a third finger, and finishes stretching him to comfortably accommodate Achilles’ girth.

“You’ve done an excellent job readying Achilles’ cock, stranger.” Patroclus hums. “How about you give him a bit of a reprieve, hmm? I’m sure that you’ll find that I am a…” he takes the bottle of nectar and upends it over his cock, thoroughly saturating it in the thick, orange substance, “suitable substitute.”

Zagreus licks his lips, “All for me?” He asks. “You shouldn’t have.” He abandons Achilles’ cock in favor of sliding his tongue over Patroclus’ weeping slit, where the nectar had begun to mix with his pre. “Mmm… delicious.”

He begins to feast on Patroclus’ cock, drinking down the nectar with small, kitten licks. “Mmm… yes, _fuck_ that’s good.” Patroclus rocks back onto his heels, his hands tangling in Zagreus’ hair as the Prince of the Underworld settles down in-between his legs. “Keep that ass in the air for Achilles, hmm? Yeah, just like that…”

It takes Achilles a moment to muster the strength to move, all of the bones in his body having become liquified by his orgasm. But the sight of rivulets of nectar dripping from the Prince’s slightly gaped hole is far too tempting to resist.

He stumbles over on wobbling, unsteady legs, and drops to his knees behind Zagreus. Inching the Prince’s legs another inch or so apart, he takes some of the nectar dribbling from Zagreus’ hole and strokes it over his still-hypersensitive cock. Taking a deep, and entirely unnecessary breath, he lines himself up with Zagreus’ entrance and presses forward. The tight ring of muscle gives way easily, Zagreus’ arms giving out as Achilles sheathes himself fully inside of him in one smooth stroke. He is wholly reliant on Patroclus’ hold on him to keep him from tumbling headlong into the Lethe—

He’s already so close, it doesn’t take him long to teeter over the edge. His entire body tenses as he presses his hips taut against the glade and _ruts_ , spilling his seed all over the verdant green earth. Achilles continues to thrust into his overly sensitive body—payback for the way he’d continued to suckle Achilles’ cock even after the other man had spent. Zagreus is _drooling_ , his channel twitching around Achilles’ aching cock. Patroclus’ hips are rocking back and forth of their own accord, spittle and nectar dripping over Zagreus’ plump lips and down his chin as he fucks the Prince’s throat raw.

Patroclus cums first, his seed trickling down the back of Zagreus’ throat as tears spill from his lust-hazed eyes. Achilles follows a second later, the feel of his seed filling him causing Zagreus to have another, micro-orgasm.

They each pull out carefully, before making Zagreus comfortable on Achilles bunched-up chlamys. “I think we wore him out.” Achilles snickers, as he inclines his head toward the lad. Zagreus is asleep once again, legs spread wide, cum and drool and nectar oozing from his holes.

Patroclus snorts, wetting a bit of cloth with water from the Lethe so that he could begin to clean the mess between the Prince’s thighs. “Aye… I think we did.”

* * *

The next time that the lad wakes, Achilles calls to light something that had been bothering him ever since the lad had brought Hypnos’ apparent oral fixation to their attention. “Lad…?” He runs a comforting hand along Zagreus’ back as the young godling stirs and looks at him plaintively. “Can I ask you something?”

He hums, “Of course, sir.” He doesn’t look very awake, but… that’s alright. Patroclus cocks his head to the side, intrigued as to what could be bothering his love. Achilles certainly hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort to him.

“You mentioned that the fury, Alecto, was giving you more trouble than usual.” He says. Zagreus stiffens a bit, before nodding. Of all the Erinyes, Alecto consistently provides him with the most trouble. “Have you been experiencing any other… _difficulties_ … in your attempts to reach my Patroclus’ glade, here?”

Zagreus is silent for a long while, before conceding, “…Yeah.”

The Prince takes a deep breath, before launching into the story of his six failed escape attempts between when Achilles had… well, you know… back at the House, and when he’d arrived in the glade. Despite having no Pacts of Punishment in place, the trip through the first two levels of the Underworld had been absolutely hellacious. In the course of all seven attempts, he had not run across a single centaur heart chamber. Apparently, Thanatos had unloaded all of the centaur hearts that he’d collected onto Charon, who’d been selling them through the Wells of Charon as centaur _souls_ —deriving them of the much appreciated health boost that the hearts provided. The price had also _tripled_ , rising from a somewhat-reasonable one-hundred obol to a whopping _three-hundred obol_ per soul.

He’d also stopped offering the proper hearts at his ship, and his gyros had started to _cost_ him health…

Someone had decommissioned all of the fountain chambers that he’d had the House Contractor install on the various levels, and even with the aid of Dionysus’ Strong Drink, the fountain chambers in-between levels only restored about twenty-five percent of his health. This, combined with the fact that the shades had been spawning in _droves_ —with sometimes as many as fifty per chamber—had made breaking out of Tartarus next to impossible. It hadn’t taken him long to come to the conclusion that he was being punished. Of course Charon would take his brother’s side in their spat—Zagreus hadn’t even been on his _own_ side, not really. Gods, he hadn’t meant _half_ of the shit that he’d said. He just… didn’t like feeling like Than was judging him for not being… He doesn’t even know.

_“The only way you ‘help keep me from dying’ is with centaur hearts, which you only provide if I_ beat _you!”_

Gods, he cannot believe that he actually _said_ that. While it _is_ a mostly accurate statement, it overlooks all of the little things that Thanatos does for him without ever fully realizing. Even just hearing the resounding ‘guh-dong’ of his bell during one of his escape attempts fills him with a sense of peace that’s difficult to properly define with words. It’s like… even if it’s only for the one chamber, he knows that he’s something close to safe. Or, at least that there’s someone there to watch his back. When Thanatos arrives, Zagreus can rest assured that he will do everything in his power to ensure that Zagreus can continue on his quest in the best position possible to succeed. He doesn’t fault the others for trying to kill him—except Alecto, because she _really_ seems to like to make him bleed—they’re just doing their respective jobs, but…

Thanatos does so much for him. So many people in the House have sacrificed so much for him to be able to be here, lounging with two of his lovers in Patroclus’ glade in the hallowed Elysian fields… And he’s never so much as said ‘thank you’.

“Can I ask you a question, sir?” Zagreus tilts his head back to look into Achilles’ eyes, his gaze hopeful.

“What is it, lad?” Achilles has an inkling that he already knows, but he doesn’t want to put words into the other man’s mouth. It is important that he begins to be able to piece all of this together on his own.

“Is this… the first time that Thanatos had come to you about… about me?” He asks, his voice quiet, contemplative. Despite the low volume, it seems to reverberate in the near-silence of the chamber. He tenses a little, but remains firm in his resolve to hear the answer.

Achilles thinks it over a moment, before shaking his head. “We’ve talked about you before, of course. You’re our lover, and we care about you more than you’ll ever know.” He says, a small smile teasing the corner of his lips. Then, “This _is_ the first time that he’s mentioned being concerned about your recklessness, though.”

Zagreus nods, “So he’s just been… suffering in silence, this whole time.” He sounds absolutely heartbroken.

“It’s going to be alright, lad.” He reminds him that they’d agreed it would be best to allow Thanatos to have his space, but concedes, “If you would like Patroclus and I to be there to help facilitate a conversation between you and Thanatos…”

Zagreus’ eyes widen, “Y-You’d do that…? Really?” He has to admit, the idea of confronting Than after everything that’d happened was more than a little bit… well, frightening. It was nice to know that he had back-up, even if it was just for the moral support.

Patroclus and Achilles share a look, before nodding, “Of course.”

There’s no telling how long it will be until he and Thanatos cross paths again. Even if Thanatos cannot remain on the surface for long, he can do so for decidedly longer than Zagreus—especially now that Persephone is no longer waiting for him on the surface. And if he’s not on the surface, well… There are hundreds of Underworld chambers that he has yet to explore. Some lead so far out of his way he would never go out of his way to utilize them—like the chambers underneath the Elysium Arena, where various champions—and the actual Champions—reside. Thanatos knows the ever-changing chambers of the Underworld far better than he does, having had countless centuries to wander the farthest reaches of Hades’ realm before Zagreus was even born. If he doesn’t want to be found, Zagreus will never find him.

Still, he… He picks up Mort, and presses a gentle kiss to the side of the little mouse’s head. It lets out a charming little squeak, its black eyes bulging, and… Hypnos appears, in a flash of soft green light, looking thoroughly disheveled and decidedly annoyed.

“Seriously? _Again_?” Hypnos crosses his arms over his chest, “For the last time, Than’s not coming. Maybe you should try waiting until you apologize to use his godsdamned summon?” He flashes him a too-bright smile, his white teeth flashing.

“I was just… you know… giving Mort a kiss. For the symbolism of it. Wasn’t actually trying to summon anyone.” Zagreus rubs the back of his neck, a bit of color rising in his cheeks. Patroclus snorts, rolling his eyes affectionately. Achilles’ eyes flicker to the wound on Zagreus’ leg, before he lifts the lad up onto his lap—and decidedly further away from Hypnos.

“I’m going to have to ask you to keep your teeth to yourself, Master Sleep.” Achilles really doesn’t know how Thanatos would respond to hearing that he drew down on his brother, and he’s not too keen to find out.

But he _will_ protect Zagreus by whatever means necessary.

“Gladly.” Hypnos smacks his lips. “He was too chewy, anyway.” He stifles a yawn, burrowing deeper into his quilt, “Well, seeing as you don’t actually need me, I’m going to head back to the House now. Don’t use his summon again until you come groveling on your hands and knees. Bye-bye now.”

He disappears in a flash of soft green light, leaving the three men to stare at the space he’d once occupied. Well… that was awkward. His mismatched eyes flicker down to Mort, as he wonders whether or not he should lock the little toy mouse away in his keepsake box to avoid further mishaps. Then again, even if he cannot actually use the summon, he _is_ set to face Theseus next. And having Mort on his person always gives him that little extra boost he needs to deal with the never-ending stream of bullshit that comes out of the Champion’s mouth.

Maybe he’ll keep him handy… at least until the end of the run.


	3. Purple Butterflies

It takes him just under an hour to process the fact that Thanatos has been hiding in his bedchambers (bedchambers that’re so _rarely_ used, everything contained inside is covered in a fine layer of dust that never seems to go away entirely—despite how often Dusa cleans (and he’s seen the way that Dusa cleans—the floors of the Great Hall should be sterile enough to eat off of)) this whole time.

It’s utterly infuriating to discover that, after combing through every last inch of the Underworld (and probing some of the less-violent denizens of the House for intel as to Thanatos’ movements), Thanatos has been right under his nose the entire time. It’s truly the perfect place to hide, seeing as Zagreus cannot remember the last time that Thanatos had actually _used_ his bed. In the months since they’d finally confessed their feelings to one another, Thanatos had started to spend what precious little time he had off in the Prince’s bedchambers. Before that… he wasn’t entirely sure that Thanatos slept at all. Perhaps on the rare occasion that Hypnos had the entire House underneath his spell, but otherwise…

Thanatos is seated at the foot of his bed, the black of his robes melting into the inky black fabric of his blankets. He is silent (once upon a time, Thanatos had told him that, if he wanted to pursue a relationship with him, he would have to learn to live with extended periods of silence—Thanatos was not like Hypnos, or Dusa, or even Meg; his work called for him to spend great stretches of time by his lonesome, and over time, he learned to take comfort in the silence. Sometimes, it was difficult for him to understand that others found extended periods of silence to be awkward or uncomfortable, when for him, silence just… _is_ ). But this is not the broody, contemplative silence that Zagreus is used to. No, this is—

Thanatos’ tired amber eyes flicker toward him, “Are you planning to stand and gawk for the rest of the afternoon?” His cheeks are flushed a delicate gold, ichor rising to the surface as a few wayward tears leak from his eyes.

“I…” Zagreus swallows hard. It occurs to him then, that despite the fact that he knew that he needed to apologize for the hell that he’d put Thanatos through, he hadn’t the slightest about how to string the words together into anything that Thanatos might be willing to hear. “I’m sorry.” He tries.

“Mmm…” Thanatos looks away, focusing instead on the delicate lavender butterfly perched on one of the long, metallic fingers of his gauntlet. “Are you, now?”

“I am.” He nods, “A-About everything. Fuck Than, the things that I said to you…”

His boyfriend tenses, just a little. “I don’t care about what you said to me, Zag.”

Zagreus pauses, his mouth hanging open around a partially formed word. That… He hadn’t been expecting that. “You… You don’t? I mean, I said some pretty awful things to you, and I would feel a lot better if I had the chance to tell you that I don’t actually—”

“You see? That’s just it, Zag. It will make _you_ feel better if _you_ have the chance to apologize to me about what _you_ said. Do you know what would make _me_ feel better?” The butterfly resting on his knuckle flitters away, terrified of way he suddenly increased his volume. “If you left…”

Zagreus swears, for just a second there, that his traitorous heart stops beating. “You don’t really mean that, Than. Y-You can’t. Not… Not after the hell that we went through just to get here…”

“Zag…” He hates the way that Thanatos’ voice breaks around his name. “Please, just… go.”

But Zagreus doesn’t _want_ to leave. The fact that he’s found Thanatos here, inside of the House, when he has the ability to phase himself _anywhere_ in the entire world (and beyond), can only mean that Thanatos _wanted_ to be found. Why else would he have stumbled across him _now_ , after an actual _week’s_ worth of searching? Thanatos may not want to listen to his apologies, but he most certainly wanted to be found.

That being said… he honestly doesn’t know what to do. Leaving now seems… _final_ , somehow. Not in the same way that Thanatos’ goodbye speech when they’d first met in Elysium had felt final (how could that be final, when he knew that they would continue to cross paths indefinitely until he was finally able to reach the surface? And then he’d discovered that he couldn’t actually stay on the surface for extended periods of time _anyway_ , and the knowledge had been as disappointing as it’d been… _relieving_? Like… the idea of spending the rest of eternity away from Thanatos had just seemed… _wrong_ , somehow). This feels like watching Theseus’ spear tearing through the air as he fights desperately to catch his breath from his latest dash…

Like feeling it _tear_ into his chest and violently rob him of the last little bit of health he has in his reserves. Like waking up in the Pool of Styx, and slowly climbing the marble stairs to hear his father chuckle as he assures him that he’ll never reach the surface. That he’ll keep throwing up obstacles in Zagreus’ way until he understands that he, like all of the other gods of the Underworld, is inextricably bound to this realm.

He was never meant to walk amongst the flowers in Persephone’s garden.

And he was never meant to revel in the loving embrace of Death.

“Do you remember what you told me about purple butterflies?” He asks, at last. Thanatos flinches a little, apparently not having expected Zagreus to still be there. I’d asked…” he chuckles lightly underneath his breath, “I’d asked why you would give me a butterfly keepsake, when the Soul Catchers in Elysium are such prickly bastards.”

Thanatos is silent for so long, Zagreus thinks that he’s set to ignore him until he takes a hint and leaves. After several long, tense moments, he’s about to do just that when Thanatos mumbles, “Butterflies are fragments of the souls of the peacefully departed. They mean you no harm.”

“I… beg to differ.” Zagreus tries to smile. It falls almost immediately once he realizes that Thanatos still has no intention of looking at him. “But purple butterflies… they’re extra special, aren’t they?”

A new butterfly lands on Thanatos’ gauntlet. This one is white, with delicately frilled wings that seem to glow in the low light of Thanatos’ bedchamber. “They’re a reminder to take heart, and to have faith in one’s self.”

“You gave me this keepsake for a reason, Than.” He feels like he’s grasping at straws, but it’s the only argument that he has, “I know that I fucked up, I know. But you… you believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. You were always encouraging me to be a better version of myself—”

“Yes. And look where it got me.” Thanatos whirls on him sharply, “Do you have any idea how _painful_ it is to be forced to watch the one you love die over and over and over again? _Do you_?!”

Zagreus swallows hard, “I don’t, thankfully. That’s, err… one of the perks of dating death himself, it would seem. You’re rather unkillable.”

The avatar of Death frowns, “I’m _not_ unkillable, Zag. Why do you think I throw up that barrier every time we enter into combat together? When you hit me, I bruise. When you cut me, I bleed. We’re not so different, you and I, except for the fact that I care enough about you to take precautions so that you never have to see—”

Thanatos bites his lip hard enough to break the skin, golden ichor, so dark that it is almost black, oozing up to the surface. He licks it away with an agitated flip of his tongue. It occurs to Zagreus in that moment that, from his station at the West Hall balcony, Thanatos has an uninhibited view of the River Styx—and of all of the souls she carries to Hades’ doorstep, whether via Charon’s boat or other… less orthodox means. That means that Thanatos would’ve seen his unconscious body floating in the water seventy-three times. Well… it’d actually be a little bit less, if you factored in the number of times that Thanatos himself escorted Zagreus back to the House, but… That’s not the point. The _point_ is that he’s asked too much of Thanatos—

And maybe, much as it pains him to even consider it, he’s asking to much coming into this with the expectation that Thanatos will just… forgive and forget. Maybe, after everything is said and done, the best that he can hope for with Thanatos is an awkward, fumbling attempt at friendship, like he has with Meg. The idea makes Zagreus’ stomach churn, but the longer the silence lingers between them… the more likely the outcome.

He’s just about to open his mouth to try a different approach when Thanatos rises, the mess of blankets tumbling off of his shoulders and lap, “Seeing as you have no intention of leaving…” He sighs heavily, “Stay as long as you like. Just don’t disturb the butterflies.”

“Wait, Than—!” Thanatos disappears in a flash of green light, leaving Zagreus standing in a now-dark room, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of butterflies in various shades of purple, green, and white.

* * *

“He really is sorry, you know.” Patroclus muses, combing his fingers through Thanatos’ short, silver-white hair. The god of death is resting in-between Patroclus’ thick thighs, his head cushioned atop his pecs. “It took him a little while to understand—but I think that he’s more of a tactile learner.”

Patroclus takes Thanatos’ hand and slides it up underneath his chest plate, just as he’d done with Zagreus. Thanatos is well-aware of what awaits him (shades are largely able to manipulate their forms at-will, and most will choose to appear as they did in their prime—many of the exalted in Elysium, however, wear their scars from battle like badges of honor, and spend their time in-between battles to the not-death trading gruesome war stories. Patroclus’ scar is not like that, however. Much like the scar on Achilles’ heel, it is a reminder of what once was—a reminder of failure, and pain, and the twisted, gnarly thing that love can become under the influence of selfishness, narcissism, and greed). He’s felt enough scars, particularly those on Achilles and Patroclus, to know them intimately.

But there’s something _different_ about the keloid scar on Patroclus’ stomach this time. Okay, that’s not entirely accurate. There is nothing _physically_ different about the scar. It is, as it ever was, a horrible remnant of a gruesome puncture wound that’d cost the young warrior his life. But knowing that Zagreus had sat in this very spot a week before, his hand on Patroclus’ wounded belly as the long-healed wound in his _own_ belly throbbed and ached… it brings a fresh round of tears to Thanatos’ eyes. He wants to forgive Zagreus. Gods, he knows he would feel _so much better_ if he could just force out those two little words—‘you’re forgiven’—and actually _mean_ them. But every time he sees Zagreus get swallowed up by the magma flowing through the River Phlegethon, he…

He just gets so _angry_. And it’s not the same kind of anger that he felt when Lord Hades had informed him that Zagreus had run off without bothering to tell him goodbye (although, the more he thinks about that, the less certain he is that that had been _anger_ at all—perhaps that’d just been a broken heart which he’d been ill-equipped to handle at the time?). This… _This_ is the sort of anger that is so _sharp_ and _pungent_ , it makes him a little sick to his stomach.

It’s like… being on the surface for too long. He feels faint, and a little lethargic, and just wants to lay down forever—

“I wasn’t lying when I said that the things he said didn’t bother me. They didn’t.” That’s… not entirely true, but for the moment, they’re willing to continue to allow him to swim in the river of denial. “I _know_ that he doesn’t need my help… and to be fair, more shades spawn in chambers that I’m in, anyway…” he trails off, his voice cracking.

Achilles reaches for Thanatos’ hand, “The lad… can be a bit of an emotionally constipated idiot at times.”

Patroclus huffs, “That’s coming from the _king_ of emotionally constipated idiots, mind you.”

Achilles rolls his eyes, before very maturely sticking his tongue out at his lover. “Thank you for that.” Patroclus blows him a kiss. “What I mean to say is… what you two have isn’t like what the lad shared with Megaera. That’s not to say that he didn’t love her, just… it was a relationship that they both grew out of.”

Patroclus chimes in with, “What the two of you have is fresh and new—and most importantly, _fragile_. He’s probably afraid of doing something horribly wrong and being forced to spend the rest of eternity watching you cozy up to someone else.” Although they all know that the odds of that happening are slim to none.

In his eons’ of existence, Thanatos had only ever _really_ expressed interest in one other person: Zagreus.

First, he merely sought friendship in the other god—drawn to him as he was, like a moth to a flame. But as the years stretched on, he realized that, somewhere along the line, he’d come to see Zagreus as something more. The younger god was like… a natural extension of himself, the dark to his light, the life to his death. He didn’t quite understand it then, and he was no closer to understanding it now. And it certainly didn’t help that Zagreus didn’t seem to have _any_ idea how to define their relationship beyond ‘friends who occasionally fuck in-between death runs’. Yes, yes, he knows. He’d _also_ found the title to be rather uninspiring. That’s why, when Patroclus had suggested they shorten all of that to just ‘boyfriends’, he’d been cautiously excited.

As it turns out, you can be boyfriends with someone and still not have the _slightest_ clue as to where you stand.

Achilles frowns, “You mean… he’s never once told you how he feels? Like… at all?” This is news to him, seeing as the lad cannot _stop_ talking about Thanatos whenever he is in either his or Patroclus’ presence.

If he were still the man that he was in life, he’d say that it was enough to make a man jealous.

It never once occurred to him that Zagreus may’ve failed to share those feelings with the one person who mattered.

“I’ve asked him.” Thanatos concedes. “Several times, as a matter of fact.” Achilles has had enough conversations with Thanatos to know that there is rarely room to misinterpret anything that he says. So either the lad was being purposefully obtuse, or—

Patroclus is able to fill in the gaps, “You don’t really think that, do you?”

“That he doesn’t actually feel for me in the same way that I feel for him? That he’s just been taking advantage of my feelings for him all this time to gain an advantage of his runs? That I’m far too in love with him to actually let him go, despite the fact that it is almost certainly going to be better for me in the long run—”

“Than…” Zagreus breathes, tears streaking down his flushed face. “I… you don’t really think those things a-about yourself, about _us_ … do you?”

Thanatos jumps a little, uncertain as to when Zagreus had walked into the chamber. He finds the fact that he was so deep inside of his own head that he didn’t even notice Zagreus’ arrival to be deeply unsettling, and unconsciously furrows a bit deeper into Patroclus’ arms. If Zagreus notices, he doesn’t comment—he’s a little too busy attempting to process what Thanatos just said.

He has to have told Thanatos about his feelings at some point, right? But the longer he wracks his brain for an answer, the less he comes up with. He remembers their various conversations on the matter—which had always come to an abrupt end when one, or both, of them had gotten too flustered to continue… The conversation kept getting shelved, to be brought back up at a later date that would never come. So, when they just kept dancing around the issue, without declaring their feelings one way or another, Thanatos had come to assume the worst. This feeling of being… of being _used_ was only made worse by the argument that they had had the other day, when Zagreus had all but confirmed that Thanatos was really only good for one thing—

_“The only way you ‘help keep me from dying’ is with centaur hearts, which you only provide if I_ beat _you!”_

Zagreus traces a finger over Thanatos’ pinned butterfly keepsake, Mort’s familiar weight feeling just a tad bit heavier in his pocket. If there were a way to turn back time, to take away the pain that’s growing ever more apparent in Thanatos’ tired amber eyes the longer that Zagreus’ holds his tongue, then he would do it. By the gods, he would do it in a heartbeat. There is no reason that Thanatos should _ever_ have to look at him like that.

But then, what should he say? What _could_ he say? It wasn’t like he could come right out and profess his undying love for Thanatos after he’d just laid all of _that_ onto the table. Not only did it seem to be in poor taste—there was no way that Thanatos would believe him. He would assume that the Prince was lying in an ill-contrived attempt to make him feel better. Which is very _not good_ —

His thoughts come to a screeching halt when Thanatos extends an arm toward him, his long fingers curled just so.

“You’re bleeding.” He says, a hint of resignation in his tone. It looks as though he intends to heal Zagreus himself.

Zagreus furrows his brow. How could he be bleeding? He’d been so careful this run to avoid taking any damage—in fact, for the last several runs, he’d managed to make it all the way through Elysium without losing a single death defiance. The Temple was still a bit tricky, as he hadn’t quite figured out how to make it past the satyrs without getting poisoned, but…

He hadn’t had to ask Patroclus for a Kiss of the Styx in quite some time.

He was trying, _desperately_ , to take everyone’s feelings into account and to treat them seriously.

“I’m not bleeding.” He denies. Thanatos is clearly skeptical, so he walks over and allows the other god to rub his thumb over the supposed wound and see for himself. “If it’ll make you feel better to know where that’s from, I missed a stair coming up from Asphodel. It’s was nothing that one of the fountain chambers couldn’t fix.”

Thanatos wipes the smear of blood away with his thumb, surprised to find that Zagreus, is, indeed, telling the truth. There is no wound to be found. “You… made it all the way to Elysium… and the worst injury you sustained was a fat lip?” He doesn’t mean to sound quite so skeptical, but it is… _surprising_.

Zagreus nods, “I know, I… I didn’t think that it was possible either, to be honest. But with Lord Hermes helping me to dodge enemy blows, and me taking extra care to ensure—”

“You? Being careful? I wasn’t born yesterday, Zag.” Thanatos frowns.

Zagreus’ mismatched eyes widen, “I-I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were! B-But I have been being extra careful these last few runs—Pat can attest to that. He’s seen me more than anyone else.”

Patroclus reiterates much of what Zagreus has already said. These last few runs, since he and Achilles had talked with him about what’d happened back at the House, Zagreus had been exercising extreme caution during his runs. He’d cut out all unnecessary risks—avoiding infernal troves and erebus chambers like the plague—had started relying more heavily on defensive boons from Lady Athena, and had begun using weapons which required less heat be added to the gauge in order to claim bounties on a successful escape. All in all, he’d seen a dramatic increase in his number of successful escape attempts (he’d reached the surface five times, and bested Hades three—the rest of the week, he’d done his best to reorient his sleeping schedule into something resembling ‘normal’—

And spending time with the loved ones that he’d been neglecting in his varied attempts to reach the surface).

Thanatos takes all of this in, his eyes never leaving the smear of blood on the pad of his thumb.

“I…” the three men wait with baited breath, anxious to hear Thanatos’ reaction to the news. Then, “I-I have souls that I need to collect.” And in a flash of bright green light… he’s gone.

* * *

Thanatos is waiting for Zagreus in his room, much like he had been that fateful morning (evening?) when all of _this_ had begun. He scares the shit out of Zagreus, just as he had the first time, but this time… they simply stare at one another for a moment or so in awkward silence, both waiting for the other to speak first. Zagreus wonders whether Thanatos would be anymore amenable to an apology now, while Thanatos wonders how one can mesh ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘you’re forgiven’ together into the shortest sentence possible without sounding weird. Eventually, Zagreus wanders forward and reaches out to take Thanatos’ hand—Thanatos allows the touch, although it takes a moment for his fingers to curl around Zagreus’.

“I should have told you from the beginning.” Zagreus mumbles underneath his breath, “I never should’ve left you with any reason to doubt my feelings for you. That’s on me.”

“Yes, well…” Thanatos shifts awkwardly, “I should not have assumed that you were aware of the extent to which it troubled me. Forgive me, I’ve spent so long alone… I don’t know that communication will ever be my strong suit.”

Zagreus squeezes his hand, the corner of his mouth quirking up into something akin to a smile. “That’s okay, love. I do more than enough talking for the both of us.” He takes a deep breath, “Just… promise me the one thing? If I ever do something that bothers you this much again… please, don’t hesitate to tell me before it gets this bad.”

The elder god swallows hard, before nodding. “I… cannot promise as much… but… I will try.”

Zagreus cups Thanatos’ cheek with his free hand, his thumb smoothing over the strong arch of his cheekbone. “And… I know that it can be scary sometimes, to talk about your emotions, but… If I have, by chance, done something to upset you… please know that you can come and talk to me about anything, okay?”

Thanatos blinks, his face stoic and unreadable. “Anything, hmm?”

“Even if it’s something you think I might not want to hear. I’d rather hear it straight from you than have to hear a mutilated version of it coming down the grapevine.”

Thanatos hums softly, considering Zagreus’ words. And then he inches closer to his boyfriend, until they’re standing chest-to-chest. Zagreus hardly has the chance to process what’s happening before Thanatos swoops down and brushes his lips over Zagreus’ in a feather-soft kiss that leaves Zagreus’ entire body practically _buzzing_ for more. It feels like an eternity since he’s last touched Thanatos, even if it’s only been a little over a week—

And a week certainly pales in comparison to the eons it took them both to get their shit together to make it this far.

After a moment, Thanatos draws back, his amber eyes heavy-lidded as he considers Zagreus’ flushed face. Then, he swoops down to murmur something into Zagreus’ ear that has the Prince flushing as dark as the pomegranates he so loves. “I-I… _Than_ , that’s not fair!”

The corner of Thanatos’ mouth quirks upward, “I thought you told me that I should be clearer about what it is that I want?” He asks, mischief twinkling in his eyes. Gods, in moments like these, it’s clear how he and Hypnos can be twins.

Zagreus chuckles, “That I did. That I did.” He begins to walk forward, guiding Thanatos back toward his bed. “Luckily for you, I believe _that_ can be arranged easily enough…”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter [@MsThunderFrost](https://twitter.com/MsThunderFrost)


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